I hate this weakness.

Admitting it means I loose my high and lofty place of judgementalism.

It feels like if this was it, this life was the singular expression of our beings...I could be happy to fade into nothingness.

There is no delight in being high and lofty once you have fallen into these cracks and beg to covered by the rocks, to just escape the forthcoming wrath.

What is this?
What is becoming?
How was life crafted on this land of merciless sun and rocks?
Where is it going?
How did the diversity become so twisted internally?

What is...what will...

Traceless lines of confusion in my look for You.
I am a beggar just looking for hope, love is too much for one like me.